Game Mechanics: Respawn
by Hobbithearted
Summary: The RED team gets their new assignment! Everyone's favorite base: 2fort. They're here to replace the last RED team, and pick up a new teammate. But there's something strange about the BLUs... And whatever it is, it's changed the nature of the game. The REDs are about to discover they're in over their heads. (Sequel to Game Mechanics: Autobalance.)
1. Prologue

A/N: A brief disclaimer that may be unnecessary but I can't help myself. When I wrote Autobalance, it was waaaaay back before they'd come out with any of the comics, and the newest video was Meet the Spy. So, when I started, I was working off of basically what you have out of the game. There is so much _more_ to the Team Fortress story now, though, and there's no possible way I could try and make my story fit into the canon storyline. This is such an AU, now that there is actual (glorious, lovely, oh my gosh it makes me grin) canon.

So, basically: While this story may occasionally reference things from the comics, and will try to stay as true to the spirit of the TF2 universe as is possible, I'm trying to draw from game experiences as much (or more) than the comics. So. Yes. Just, y'know, bear that in mind, I guess?

(That really wasn't brief at all, was it?)

Anyway. I hope you guys enjoy! :)

* * *

_Three Days Ago - Location: Two Fort_

The RED Demoman tripped over what was left of his friend, the Soldier, and fell backwards down the long, _long_ flight of stairs. He was, as usual, as drunk as a... thing that was very very drunk, and this, undoubtedly, saved his life. Because, when the Scottish cyclops landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, it was with bumps and bruises, but no broken neck.

But there was no time to be grateful for small favors. Somewhere above him was the BLU Heavy. The Demoman could hear the slow, purposeful tramp of his boots. He squinted blearily up the straight stair with his one good eye, and saw the silhouette of the Russian giant, dark against the remaining daylight. The minigun, black and gold and menacing, started to growl.

Hands grabbed him, and hauled him around the corner and to his feet. When he flailed, in a blind panic, the Scout's voice grated on his ears. The Demoman had never been happier to hear the obnoxious young man in his life. "Hey! Hey! Watch it, Cyclops, its just me! Jeez, you look like crap."

The Demoman grabbed the runner by the shoulders, solitary eye wide and perhaps a tad deranged. "Yeu're.. alive? Aie thought... everyone was dead." He swayed. "They're all... dead..."

The Scout gave him a worried grin. "'Course I'm alive, moron. I'm _me_." The younger man eased his staggering teammate's arm over his shoulders. "C'mon, we gotta get-"

From the stairs, the BLU Heavy's voice boomed out, in an ominous sing song. "We are _coming_ for you, little man."

"-going," the Scout finished, in a mutter. With his help, the Demoman broke into a staggering run. The rest of the base was silent, except for the soft whirr-beep of the computer banks lining the walls. The Demo wasn't even really sure what they were _there_ for, except to make ambient noise.

"They jus' keep comin'," he moaned. "Just... keep comin'."

"Aw, jeez," the Scout panted. "Don't melt down on me now, ya frickin' drunk lunatic."

But the Demoman had already been well past melt-y when the Scout found him, and felt there was no good reason to blunder his way back to sanity _now_. "No where tae go, anyway," he moaned. "Y' cannae run from the dead."

The Scout rolled his eyes, and steered his raving teammate down the hall, towards the Intel room. "Oh, my god. You've gotta be kidding me. _Yeah_, okay, we're kinda screwed and everybody's dead and everything, but... c'mon! Stop bein' such a _wuss_!"

The Demo made a half hearted attempt at pulling himself together. The Scout was right. Everyone was dead, and they were completely and utterly doomed, and it didn't matter how much they fought they were going to die... but, they weren't dead _yet. _

"Right, right." He pushed off to stagger on his own two feet, and fumbled with the security code on the door. "We're jus' fine. Peachy, even. We'll jus' defend th' bloody Intelligence 'til reinforcements arrive, an' then we'll go home... for... cake..."

He trailed off. Because, as he was speaking, the Demo had unlocked the door and pushed it open. Or, rather, tried to. It had gotten caught on something. Something stiff, and solid, and bloody, that lay sprawled across the floor, just inside the door.

There was just enough left of it to be recognizable as the RED Scout.

The icy, ruthless grip of reality sunk in, more effectively banishing the work of several bottles of the strongest whiskey the Demo had been able to find than a whole barrelful of espresso. He looked over into the grinning face of the false Scout.

"Whoops!" it said, cheerfully. And _beamed_ at him, as he brought up his grenade launcher and blew it to bits.

Sobbing in terror as bits of the phantom rained down around him, the Demoman shoved his way into the Intelligence room and slammed the door behind him. With shaking hands, he coated the doorframe with sticky bombs, and backed up until bumped into the desk, where he sank into a trembling heap. The sticky bomb launcher was cradled to his chest. He just had to hold out. He just had to hold out. Just had to hold out.

The voice, when it came back, was muffled by the door. "Aw, c'mon, cyclops! Why'd you go 'n' kill me? I thought we were _friends_."

"Go away!" he howled.

It became the Soldier's voice, gruff and admonishing. "What kind of man are you, maggot! Letting your whole team _die_ like that? You're a disgrace to the uniform! Just like you pansy, skirt wearing Scotsman! Go hide in a hole with your bottle of _whine_, while real men stand and fight!"

The Demo clapped his hands over his ears, and begged the voices to stop. _Just have to hold out, just have to hold out, just have to hold out, just have to..._


	2. Chapter 1 - A Dark & Stormy Night

A/N: A quick note - if you have not already read the revised ending for Autobalance, just be aware that there will be references to that new version of "prior events."

Also, I have no idea on an update schedule, but I want to leave myself some wiggle room. So, longer chapters (this size will probably be the average?) but probably not on a bi-weekly basis.

* * *

**_Chapter One: _**

_Three days later _

He was surrounded. The RED Heavy on one side, the RED Scout on the other, and if he somehow (_somehow!) _made it past _them_, then he'd have to contend with the RED Soldier, which would have been worse. Grimly, he resigned himself to the fact that there would be no escape. No where to run. No where to hide. And no one to blame but himself, and his own foolishness.

Gritting his teeth, the Medic braced himself against the assault, and wondered, not for the first time, what had possessed him to _carpool_.

It defied all reason and logic.

He could have afforded his own ride. In fact, he usually took the train, when traveling between bases. He _liked_ the train. It was _quiet_. For a few, blissful hours, he wasn't surrounded either by people trying to kill him, or _idiots_ trying to get themselves killed. And, he had a small mountain of reading to catch up on.

It simply didn't make sense. For _any_ of them, not just him. Each and every one of them could have afforded to buy themselves their own private train car, their own private jet - their own private _airline - _much less their own car. And yet, the entire _gottverlassen_ team had crowded into the back of the Sniper's camper van, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. It was utter madness.

And it was apparently contagious.

The Medic had made the mistake of sitting down first. At the time, he'd merely wanted to lay claim to the table, intending to use it as a makeshift desk for the duration of the trip. It was a snug little booth, shaped in a _U_ around a square little table, and it seemed like it would suit his purposes, especially since the alternative seemed to be fighting the Spy for the passenger seat, or sharing the window seat with someone. So, he'd chosen the table. The Heavy had sat down across from him, but that didn't raise any objections from _him._ And then the Scout was also claiming a spot at the table, and it was move over to make room or _be_ moved, by some well placed bony elbows. Which was how it had come to this.

Trapped. Unable to escape... from the Scout's endless_ chatter._

"I ever tell you I started out at Two Fort, Doc?"

"Mm." The Medic tried to sound as if he was too distracted, and not listening to a word the younger man was saying, in the vain hope the Scout might take a hint and leave him in peace with his medical journals.

It wouldn't work. It hadn't the last five times he'd tried it, and the Medic knew he was deluding himself, but it was only glimmer of hope he had left, _gottverdamnt_.

"Best base ever, I'm tellin' ya. You ever been there?"

The Heavy was of no help at all. The big man had fallen asleep instantly as soon as the vehicle started moving, and hadn't stirred since. His snores, which sounded a little like someone attempting to do a drum solo on a set of orchestral timpani drums, vibrated the camper van's flimsy walls with each breath.

The Medic gave in. "Ja," he said, keeping his reply as short and to the point as humanly possible. No sense in encouraging the conversation any further than he had to. It was bound to continue, but unless he dug his heels in and resisted at every opportunity, he might never escape.

"Best. Base. _Ever_. Lemme tell ya, with me around? This is gonna be a piece of _cake_."

Before the Medic could summon up a response, the only other conscious passenger in the back of the Sniper's van spoke up. Though _spoke_ didn't accurately describe the volume that was used. "Maggot! Where you fight isn't important! So long as there are BLUs to fight, _that_ is the best base! And when you have _destroyed_ them in your current location, _you go somewhere else and fight them there!_"

The Soldier had claimed the window seat for his own, and wedged himself into the corner of it in such a way that he could glower out around the corner of the frame, but not be immediately visible if someone was looking in. What he was watching for was anyone's guess, and who he thought might be looking for him, just as much a mystery. At the moment, the only thing the Medic could see outside was darkness and rain drops on the window glass.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Look, you obviously have never been t' a Two Fort before. Lemme lay it out for you." The Scout leaned over, ticking his arguments off on his fingers. "_Two_ forts. _Two_ briefcases. _Me_, kicking ass. _End of discussion_. Two Fort is _awesome._" He elbowed the Medic. "Right Doc?"

"_The best base is the base with dead BLUs in it!_" bellowed the Soldier.

In a much quieter tone of voice, and more than half hoping he'd be entirely drowned out by the Soldier's shouting, the Medic muttered, "Its... not bad." He really, honestly, didn't care one way or the other, but the Scout was staring at him, expectantly, waiting for the back up. The young man didn't seem to notice his lack of enthusiasm.

"See?" he retorted, spinning back to face the Soldier, and gesturing at the Medic, as if the answer was undeniable proof and _not_ just a halfhearted concession. "The Doc says it was great, too!"

"Ha! You can't trust _him!_ You know what he is!" The Soldier pointed an accusing finger at the Medic, who had to resist the urge to duck for cover.

It would be an _over_statement to say that he'd lived in a constant state of dread for this moment, when the Soldier's flimsy grasp on reality would suddenly crystallize, and the madman would realize that the Medic was the same _BLU_ Medic they'd captured back at the last base, and would then rend him limb from limb in a fit of rage. In all honestly, the Medic had been taking the Soldier's inability to comprehend the idea of a BLU joining the RED team (and thus, it obviously couldn't have happened) for granted, and hadn't given it a moment's further thought. By now, he'd assumed that, if that ship was going to sail, it would have sailed already.

Suddenly, he found himself wondering if he'd been really and tragically mistaken.

"He's a no good, lousy, scum sucking, rotten-"

_Mein Gott, zhis is it._

"-Nazi!"

The Medic blinked. Then relaxed, as giddy relief flooded him. And here he'd been _worried_. Not that letting the Soldier think he was a Nazi was necessarily any healthier, in the end, than letting the man think he was a former BLU and a turncoat... But he suspected the _road_ to that end would be a great deal _worse._

"Hey!" the Scout protested. "The Doc's no Nazi!" He elbowed the Medic again. "Right, Doc?"

There was no possible way he was going to get dragged into _this_ particular discussion. "I am going to read my book, now, _zhank you_," he announced, without acknowledging the question, and turned his attention, pointedly, back to the page in front of him.

The Scout and the Soldier continued to argue.

x x x

The RED Sniper was beginning to wonder if he'd made a wrong turn somewhere. If the amount of water outside his windshield was any indication, he was taking them on a detour through a lake. What the weather was doing couldn't rationally be called raining. It couldn't be called pouring. He wasn't sure there was a word for _ambulatory ocean_, but trying to come up with one was a good way as any to pass the time, while he squinted into the tiny tunnel of light from the van's solitary headlight, past the windshield wiper that was frantically and ineffectively trying to keep the water wiped away. He was confidant that they were still on the road, in the correct lane, and were going in the right direction. (Probably.) That was all he'd promise.

"I suppose it would useless to suggest we pull over until ze storm passes?"

The Sniper grunted, a noncommital noise that wasn't so much intended to confirm or deny this statement, as simply acknowledge that the speaker had spoken, and that he had heard him.

"As I suspected." In the Sniper's peripheral vision, the Spy shifted his weight to relieve stiff muscles, and then settled back into a comfortable lounge. The Spy had been quiet since they started the trek, which was precisely the reason he'd been allowed to call shotgun for the ride to their new base. There was a very short list of individuals that the Sniper was willing to be cooped up with in a small, enclosed space for any length of time, and most of his team was _not_ on it. The main requirement was the ability to keep their mouth shut.

From the muffled voices drifting through the flimsy wall behind him, the reason that 90% of the team was disqualified by that fact alone was self evident.

Still, it occurred to the Sniper that the Spy was being a little _too_ quiet. It was a very safe bet that he was scheming something.

Again.

Mind you, _scheming something_ was basically the Spy's default, resting state of mind. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. At least, in the case of this particular Spy. The spook might a slippery, twisty minded weasel, but so far his schemes had been for the good of the team. Whether the rest of the team liked it or not.

_And speaking of the wanker's last scheme..._ If he strained, the Sniper could make out a voice just on the very edge of hearing, under the white noise of the rain, the deep rumbling that was the Heavy's snoring, and the louder (if no more coherent) voices of the Scout and the Soldier. He couldn't make out the German accent that would be coating the words, but the tone of resigned exasperation in the Medic's laconic responses came through loud and clear.

"The Doc's fitting in well," the Sniper said, without taking his eyes off the road.

"Oui," replied the Spy, in a distracted tone. And then, a moment later, as he apparently put aside his scheming for his second favorite past time, added, "Ah, yes. Zat reminds me. _Ahem_." The bloody wanker raised one gloved fist to his mouth to clear his throat in a pointed and exaggerated manner, and then leaned over the arm rest. Waving two fingers with a flourish, as if conducting an invisible orchestra, he announced, in a sing song tone, "Told you so."

The Sniper didn't even dignify this with a glare. Keeping his gaze firmly fixed on what little he could see of the road, he retorted, "Getting lucky isn't the same as being right."

"Ha! You only say zat because I won."

"It wasn't a competition, mate."

The Spy sat back in his seat and chuckled, his tone clearly suggesting that of course it was... and that the Sniper knew this perfectly well.

The Australian gunman knew he should just quit while he was ahead, but couldn't quite help one last grumble. "It shouldn't have worked."

"You are particularly lucky zat it did," the Spy pointed out, in an offhand manner.

The Sniper made another noncommittal noise, frowning faintly into the rain outside the window shield. The Spy, being the Spy, could tell he had more to say, and so waited patiently as the Sniper weighed his words. "Luck's going to run out eventually." It was a dispassionate observation, but with the weather outside, it skirted the line of ominous and gloomy. When the Spy didn't immediately answer, the Sniper risked briefly taking his eyes off the road. The bloody fancy wuss was contemplating the cigarrette in his hand, with an expression that would have looked indifferent and bored to anyone else, but did nothing to reassure the Sniper.

"You planning on telling us what's really going on, or were you just going to let us walking in blind?"

"I gave you all ze briefing before we left," was the mild reply.

The Sniper snorted, and shot back, twisting his words in a mockery of the Spy's own accent, "_'_We 'ave our new ord-airs, zey are sending us to Two Fort' is a bullet point, mate, not a briefing."

In the blurry reflection in the wind shield, the Sniper could see the Spy raise a brow. "Was zat supposed to be French? Never do zat again. You'll pull somezing. It would be tragic."

Bloody spook would evade, evade, evade if the assassin let him. "What aren't you telling us, mate?"

"You will 'ave to be _much_ more specific zen zat."

"Alright. What aren't you tellin' us about this ruddy assignment what's got you so worried?"

"I'm not worried," the Spy lied. Raising a hand to forestall further disgruntlement on the part of his colleague, he continued, "But if I were, I would probably be somewhat troubled by ze fact zat zis is ze second assignment zat we 'ave been given where ze previous team 'as met a grisly fate."

That wasn't the whole of it, the Sniper was sure, but it gave him something to go on, at least. "Not many other ways this crew stays together. We're lucky no one's been swapped out. Or left behind."

"Zey could send us in at ze beginning of a battle, for once."

"Must be getting a reputation as problem solvers. Not a bad reputation to 'ave."

"Oui. So long, as you say, our luck 'olds."

"Don't think it will?" Again, the Sniper's tone suggested that the question was simply a neutral inquiry.

The Spy gave him a chiding look, and retorted in a tone overflowing with confidence and assurance, "I 'ave no doubts whatsoever zat zis team will continue to perform wiz superb excellence."

The Sniper nodded, reasonably, at that. "Me, neither, mate."

Both knew what the other meant.

x x x

The Engineer's first glimpse of their new base was not inspiring. The rain had laid off, a bit, but all that meant was it was just pouring, rather than _deluging_, smothering what little daylight was left and generally obscuring the world outside the determined light of their headlights. The two bases, RED and BLU, squatted silently in the dusk, looking empty and unfriendly. _If buildings could look surly..._ The Texan shook his head. The long, lonely ride was getting the better of him.

Almost everyone had piled into the Sniper's camper van. _Almost_ everyone. Not him. Of course, this wasn't new. Since he'd joined up with the team, they'd changed bases every few months. With the exception of the first couple of trips, the Engineer had always driven the moving van. For starters, no one else knew how to. And, no one would trust leaving their stuff with anyone who _wasn't_ one of the team. Hell, the Heavy was even trusting him with Sasha.

It had never felt lonely before.

'Course, they hadn't had the Medic before. The Medic who had piled right into the back with the rest of 'em. The Medic who'd changed the color of his coat, and suddenly _fit right in_. The Medic who didn't have two words to say to the Engineer at the best of times, and the rest of the time, treated him like he was a bomb about to go off.

It... Hell, it nagged at him a bit, that's all. Just a _bit._ He knew it shouldn't, that just because the damn doctor had joined up and became everyone's new favorite pal didn't mean that it cut _him_ out of the equation. He knew it was downright stupid and unreasonable to get his nose in a sling about it.

That only made it nag at him more.

Even the end of the drive itself wasn't a cheerful prospect. Maybe if it had been a different base, but the Engineer knew Two Fort. Or, at least, he'd known _a_ Two Fort. Hard to say exactly how many there were of them, but if you'd been to one, you'd been to 'em all. Somewhere along the line, RED or maybe BLU Command had come up with bright idea of storing their top-secret information in a big, bulky briefcase, in the basement bunker of a... well. A _fort_. In response, BLU or maybe RED Command had built their _own_ fort, with their _own_ briefcase full of top-secret intelligence, safe in its _own_ bunker in the basement... right across a moat, maybe twenty or thirty feet across, from their competitor's fort. You could lob a rock from the battlements of one base and land it on the battlements of the other, without trying very hard.

Now, that kind of thing would make a body question the intelligence of the folks running the show. Or, at least, it would do, if aforementioned body didn't already know perfectly well the _answer_ to that question. Still, a job was a job.

And, to be fair, it wasn't a bad base, exactly. Plenty interesting if you were a Sniper, or a Scout, or a Spy, or even a Demoman, or Soldier, or Pyro... Basically, it was plenty exciting for anyone who _wasn't_ an Engineer. If you were an Engineer? Well...

He was the last line of defense. Which meant he was stuck down in that bunker, in the basement, just about as far from the action as you could possibly get, and just about as far out-of-the-way as somebody could ask for. Sitting down there, twiddling his thumbs, listening to the faint sounds of the rest of his team doing battle...

All alone.

With nothing to do.

For hours..

"...just dandy," the Engineer muttered.

Following the Sniper's tail lights around to the back of the base, the Engineer maneuvered his own vehicle over to the back entrance. Parking the van, the Texan shut the engine off, and stepped out into the cold, rainy evening to rejoin his team.

The Scout had been the first out of the gate, like the cork popped off of a wine bottle, not slowed down a whit by the downpour. It was obvious the runner was fit to burst with restlessness, after sitting still for the long ride. "Yo, Hard Hat!" The Scout bounded over to the back of the moving van and started jogging in place. "C'mon, c'mon, let's go!"

"Hold your horses, kid," the Engineer said. "I'm comin'." Ducking his head in a half-hearted attempt to keep the rain off his face, he started slogging his way over.

Behind the Scout came the Soldier, who scowled up at the weeping skies that continued to sluice down on them. If his expression was any indication, the Soldier probably thought that the weather was doing this on purpose, just to get in his way. With water running in rivulets down his combat helmet, the man trooped after the Scout, and grunted a greeting at the Engineer.

Then came the Heavy, who stopped to stretch and yawn hugely, just outside the door, before squinting up at the rain. "Was good trip," he remarked, in that deep rumbling voice that gave the thunder rolling over head a run for its money.

"How vould _you_ know?" grumbled a voice behind him. As the Heavy moved out of the way, their new Medic came into view, stepping down and likewise ducking his head against the downpour. The Engineer caught himself frowning, and looked away. "You vere asleep zhe entire time."

The big Russian gunner chuckled. "Da! Was very peaceful."

"For _some_ people."

The Heavy laughed, and the Engineer tried to ignore them. This task was made easier by the arrival of the Sniper, who'd come around the front of his camper. The lanky Australian gave the Engineer a wave and strode over. "Drive give ya any trouble?"

"Nah," the Engineer replied, easily. "There was one stretch where some damn fool idiot drove us through a typhoon, but other than that..."

"A typhoon?" The Sniper looked unrepentant. "Issat what you're callin' this light little rain shower?"

The Engineer glanced over at the passenger side of the camper, where the Spy was beginning to emerge. The masked man had uncurled from his seat like a cat from a nap on a windowsill, contemplating the muddy ground he was about to step in with a sour look. "Should we be worried that our Sniper's got such terrible eyesight?" the Texan asked him.

"I insinuated zat it might be wise to pull over, and wait out ze storm," the Spy replied, smoothly, still contemplating his first step. "'E made grunt-y caveman noises at me, which I took to mean, '_Stop distracting me, or we'll all die 'orribly in a fiery crash.'_"

The Sniper snorted. "You're both a couple of bloody wusses, gettin' all worked up over a little bit of wet."

"Do they even _have_ storms like this in Australia?" the Engineer asked.

"Do they 'ave 'em in Texas?" the Sniper retorted, calmly.

"You parked," interjected the Spy, tone suddenly sharp and accusing, "over a _puddle_."

The Sniper looked innocent. "Did I?"

"Zhese are _expensive shoes_."

A smirk crept onto the Aussie's expression, chattering the illusion of innocence. "Need someone t' give you a piggy back, mate?"

"_Non_," the Spy replied, with a haughty sniff, looking down his nose at them. "I do not." He carefully placed one patent leather shoed foot down, and suppressed a shudder at the squish. "You ignorant cretin."

The Sniper just touched the brim of his hat, politely, and strolled over to join the rest of the ranks, where they were congregating behind the moving van. The Engineer chuckled and followed, feeling his spirits lift a little. Might be he was exaggerating things, a bit. The gloomy weather was just gettin' to him, that was all. Just had to stay positive.

Yeah. Because that was gonna work.

x x x

The Medic watched the Spy try to carefully stalk across the muddy ground with dignity and poise, and tried not to look too amused. His friend favored him with the sort of look usually reserved for things found on the bottom of one's shoes. "You are smirking."

"I am doing no such zhing," replied the Medic, making an effort to smooth the expression from his features.

"_I_ am smirking," the Heavy added, helpfully, and demonstrated.

The Spy glared at him.

Meanwhile, the Engineer had come around to the back of the van, fishing his keys out of his pocket. Finding the right one, he unlocked the padlock at the base of the big sliding door, and then stopped before pulling it open. Instead, he straightened, raised one fist to the door itself, and very purposefully drummed his knuckles in a short, clear rhythm on the sheet metal. _Shave and a hair cut..._

There was a pause. Then, from deep inside the van, two answering knocks echoed. _Two... Bits. _

The Medic frowned. _Was zur Hölle?_

The Engineer lifted the latch and rolled the metal door up on its track. The only light out here came from the bulb above the door near the load dock, and as the door rolled up, the shadows retreated to the back of the van, revealing boxes and suitcases and crates, all stacked together and lashed down with rope. The shadows pooled in the back, recoiling from the light, crouching on top of the team's collective luggage like some mythical beast.

A pair of eyes watched them, from the deep in the shadows.

Well... alright. _Lenses_, really. Two round circles that caught the light from the back door and reflected it back. They moved closer, then a smaller shadow detached from the larger mass, and became the Pyro. Coming over to the edge of the van, he stopped and looked out at the rain. "Mhrrr..."

"How'd the ride treat ya, pardner?"

The Pyro grumbled a bit, then hopped down into the mud. Flashing the Texan a cheerful thumb's up, he mmphed, "Mh mmph."

As the others moved forward to start grabbing their gear, the Medic leaned to the side to mutter up at the Heavy, "He... vas in zhe back? Vhen zhey said he vas riding wiz zhe Engineer, I zhought..."

The Heavy nodded, leaning down and replying in what, to him, served as a whisper, "Is good plan, da? Big surprise for any thief."

Someone would have to be very stupid indeed to try to steal from a group of trained, mercenary killers, but the Medic didn't point this out. Better safe than sorry, he supposed. Still... riding alone, in the dark, for the lonely hours between their last base and this one?

He wondered if it would have been better than being cooped up with the Scout.

x x x

As his colleagues moved to collect their belongings and carry them inside, the Spy put out a hand that politely but firmly requested, with a light touch on the back of the Medic's elbow, that the doctor wait a moment before doing the same.

Despite what the Sniper had implied earlier, the Spy was not at all worried. _Worry_ was a useless emotion that wasted time. It was an emotion for small-minded peasants whose ability for rational thought was like a gerbil on a treadmill in comparison to the smooth, well oiled thinking machine of the Spy's.

Of course he wasn't worried.

He was _perturbed_. There was a difference.

The thing that his teammates did not, and would never, understand was that, in this particular case, the Spy was being elusive because he honestly did not know what was wrong. Command had been tight-lipped and cryptic in their instructions. Even more so than usual. All he knew for certain was that there was something... unusual about their current assignment. And not, as he'd insinuated to the Sniper, because of the fate of the previous REDs. _That_ was commonplace, and hardly even worth mentioning. No, there was something wrong, but he couldn't see it yet. He kept running over the sparse information Command had passed along, kept reflecting on the Sniper's insights (feeble as they were) into the matter, and quietly observing the solid facts as they unfolded before his eyes, and still... _nothing_.

And thus, he was perturbed.

Still, it would reveal itself in due time, and they... _he... _would handle it then, with ease and stylish expertise. He had handled worse, after all. There was no other possible outcome. Therefore, there was no sense in worrying. If he'd been the type of person to worry. And he wasn't, so he was obviously _not worrying_.

No matter what the Sniper so clearly thought.

"I am going to go 'ave a chat wiz our newest teammate," the Spy informed the Medic, quietly. Not that there was a great need for subterfuge, but... well, it was _fun_. "If you would be so kind as to accompany me... I imagine 'e may require some medical assistance, after all zis time."

The Medic looked pensive for a moment, but nodded, with only the smallest of glances in the Heavy's direction. Though the doctor was beginning to seem more comfortable with his new team, it was still clear that he felt much more secure when the Heavy was at hand. "Let me get my Medigun."

This task took him scarcely a minute, and then he joined the Spy (who kept his own gear with him at all times, because why would you _not) _on the steps that ran up to the back door. Leaving the rest of their team to argue over who was carrying what, the Spy lead the way into their new base. They came in just off of the courtyard, a large open aired, square... well, _courtyard_, that was walled off on all sides and split into two levels by a wooden walkway that ran along two of the walls, in a large L shape and connected to the lower level by two sets of stairs.

Across from them, the courtyard led into a large room that resembled nothing so much as a hay loft, made of red wood, with piles of hay (or possibly straw, the Spy neither knew nor cared) along the far wall. Some vague, poorly executed attempt by their superiors to make the fort that was _obviously_ not a farm-type building appear to be a farm-type building. From previous experience, the Spy knew there were a few wooden cow cut outs that decorated the lawn, past the chain link fence.

To their left, there was another doorway, and a third set of stairs that led straight down into the lowest level of the base, and the Spy moved towards these, looking forward to getting out of the rain. The Medic followed, frowning. "I don't remember it being zhis dark..."

And, it was. The courtyard itself was lit only by the light that escaped out of the doorways that led into the connecting interior spaces, and the lights themselves only really served to emphasize the gloom. The light at the top of the stairs kept flickering, in an off-putting sort of way. "It _is_ night time, Doctor. Zat is when ze sun goes away."

The Medic rolled his eyes, but looked exasperated rather than uneasy, which was the point. "Oh, is _zhat_ vhat happens? _Danke."_

_ "Bitte," _the Spy replied, in an offhand, casual manner, and then stopped up short at the bottom of the stairs, right before he put his foot into what had previously been a puddle of blood. It was now an expansive red stain, but no more pleasant to stroll through.

He picked his way around it, carefully, though the Medic had no such repulsion, and simply walked over it. The doctor was frowning again, thoughtfully. "Zhey vhere _all_ viped out?"

"_Non_. Zhe Demoman survived."

There was a slight pause, and then the Medic said, "Zhat isn't reassuring."

The Spy waved a dismissive hand. "Ze team we replaced at ze last base was also almost wiped out. As were ze BLUs, if I remember correctly. Zis isn't ze first time any of us 'as been given ze job of picking up ze previous team's pieces."

"Zhe last base, ve wern't contending wiz zhe team zhat had been doing zhe _viping out_," the Medic pointed out. "..._Eizzer_ of us."

"Mmm. _Zat_ was unusual. But, I assure you, zere is no need to worry. Zis team 'as 'andled much worse."

"Wiz out a... scratch?"

Ah. So, _that_ was what was troubling him. For a moment or two, the Spy might have suspected that the Medic and the Sniper had been conspiring. There was no real point in lying. The Medic may follow his lead blindly on occasion, but the doctor knew his job too well to swallow anything but the truth in this instance. "We 'ave 'ad ze Scout for almost nine months now, which is somezing of a record, I'll admit. Ze Pyro 'as only been 'ere for four months. Everyone else 'as been wiz ze team for much longer. Ze 'Eavy," he added, pointedly, "for example, 'as been 'ere longer zan I 'ave."

"Ah." In that one word, the Spy detected some small knot of tension in the Medic ease ever so slightly.

They had reached the barracks, which was more or less one long corridor with rooms branching off of it. It appeared to be abandoned. He had hoped the Demoman's whereabouts would be somewhat obvious, that there would be some signs of life to follow, but there was only silence. Off hand, as he strolled over to the nearest door and checked it. It was locked and, so, he set about unlocking it. "Out of curiosity... what about you? 'Ow long were you wiz your last team?" It was a dangerous question, the Spy knew. On the whole, he realized that it was best to avoid the subject of the Medic's last team, considering his _new_ team had been fighting them and, with some exceptions, killing them. However, while it was a tricky subject, it was also important insight into the Medic's frame of mind. The Spy liked to have his team running smoothly, and that generally meant he needed to stay on top of how they all ticked.

The doctor was quiet, watching him work, for a few moments. "_Drei Wochen_," he said, at last. "Vhich vas zhe longest its been, for... avhile."

_Three weeks_, the Spy translated, mentally. "Ze longest you've been wiz a team?"

There was another slight pause. "Somezhing like zhat."

The Spy paused, himself. "_Ah_."

History was not something normally discussed by the mercenaries, for various different reasons, ranging from _do not wish to know ever under any circumstances_, to _not even remotely interested please stop talking_ to _mind your own business_. Previous teams and teammates were generally left unremarked upon, and that was for the best. For precisely this reason. Still, it was enlightening to learn of the Medic's previous track record, at least in terms of anticipating his newest colleague. It was beginning to dawn on the Spy that getting the Medic to join up had only been half the battle. They were, all of them, far more used to a stable team than this new revelation implied that the doctor was. It had been months since they'd needed to call in for a replacement, whereas in the Medic's experience...

_Mmm._ Something to ponder, at least. Nevertheless, he had other, more pressing business than the Medic's state of mind.

The lock clicked, and the Spy straightened up, opening the door as he did so. The room beyond appeared to be the standard quarters that such barracks were usually outfitted with: bed, desk, dresser, etc. etc. etc. All neat and spick and span and entirely uninhabited. Glancing down the hall, the Spy noted the number of doors. The barracks appeared to be designed to be able to accommodate a much larger team than the one currently moving into them. "Zis could take all night..."

The Medic put a hand up to his mouth, and called down the echoing hallway, "Herr Demoman! Are you down here?"

Silence answered him.

"Apparently not," observed the Spy. "I suppose zat's one way of doing it."

"Zhank you."

Turning on one heel, the Spy led the way back out of the barracks, "A dull, _pedantic _way of doing it."

The Medic snorted, easily catching up with the Spy and falling into pace beside him. "Do you vant to be at zhis all night?"

Stepping aside to let the Heavy, laden with several large boxes, pass them, the Spy waited until their teammate was out of earshot before he murmured, innocently, "Better zan ze alternative."

The Medic muttered _"Hah" _under his breath, but neither, the Spy noticed, did he contradict him. They had only walked a few more paces before the Medic asked, quietly, "_Is_ zhere anyzhing you're not telling us?"

The Spy stifled the childish urge to roll his eyes. _Not him, too_. "Doctor," he chided, adopting the most casual, unconcerned air available in his arsenal, "Are you suggesting zat just because I am enigmatic and mysterious, zat I might be 'iding somezing?"

The Medic gave him a flat look.

The Spy attempted to add a layer of sincere innocence to his already casual air. "When 'ave I ever wiz'eld information if it would keep ze team from doing zeir jobs effectively?"

"Vould you like zhat list alphabetically, or chronologically?"

"Zat was a different matter. Anyway," The Spy arched an incredulous brow, "Are you _complaining_?" He couldn't help but feel a small twinge of annoyance. After all, everything that could possibly be on the Medic's list of examples had been to the Medic's benefit. As well as his team's. It hardly counted if he was doing it for their own good.

"Of course not, _dummkopf_." They rounded the corner that would lead them to the Intel room. At the end of the hall, the door stood open. "But, if vun of us could help..."

The Spy waved a hand, dismissively, eyeing what he could see of the room beyond. There seemed to be a great deal of blood staining the floor around the doorway. He supposed that was to be expected. "I assure you, everyzing is under control."

At least, this was what he started to say, as they stepped through the door. As it turned out, he had barely formed the first syllable of _control_ when the Medic sucked in a sharp breath of recognition and fear and flung an arm out in front of the Spy to prevent him from continuing forward. Before the Spy could react, he found himself dragged along, as the Medic scrambled backwards into the hall, out of the doorway.

"What-" the Spy started to demand."

"I-" the Medic began, at the same time, sounding slightly embarrassed.

They were both interrupted by a quiet _beep_, and the sudden explosion that went off right where they had been standing, just a moment ago. The explosion that they were not _quite_ far enough away from, which knocked them both off of their feet.


	3. Chapter 2 - The Welcome Wagon

**_Chapter Two:_**

_A moment ago..._

"Are you complaining?" the Spy asked, and the Medic had to resist the urge to smack the back of his balaclava'ed head. _No_, he wasn't complaining, not _exactly_. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful for the Spy's help, seeing as the man saved his life. But the Spy _had _upended that life in the process - not to mention he'd had the doctor following his lead on nothing more than blind, desperate faith.

Just this once, the Medic would like to actually know - really seriously - exactly how much danger he _actually_ was in. Just this _once._

"Of course not, _dummkopf_," the Medic growled. And then softened his tone, begrudgingly. He wasn't sure why he was even bothering. It _would_ be nice, if this _blindly following the Spy's lead_ was going to be come a habit, if the Spy could have extended little trust in return. But that was about as likely as the Scout staying silent for a whole day. "But, if vun of us could help..."

He trailed off as they reached the open door to the Intel room. Some warning bell was going off in the back of his head, and all thoughts about their conversation suddenly evaporated. The door was lying on the ground in front of the doorway. _Vhy vould-_

His gaze shot to the doorway itself, as the Spy continued talking, utterly oblivious. Sticky bombs lined the doorway, little glowing red and white spiky death spheres. The Medic's reflexes had him back-pedaling almost as the sight registered, his heart in his mouth, dragging the Spy with him.

At which point his brain caught up with him. Red sticky bombs. _RED_. As in, the team he was on now. As in, the team that was no longer trying to kill him. The Spy was looking understandably affronted by the manhandling. Feeling like a fool, the Medic began to explain, even as the Spy began to demand an explanation.

Then there was an explosion.

There really was no other way to describe it, but even so, simply saying _explosion_ didn't do the sensation justice. He felt like he'd just been tackled by an enemy Heavy, one made entirely of hot air and bits of shrapnel. The noise was secondary, a background cacophony to the shock of the force that hit him, and it left his ears ringing.

The next thing the Medic knew, he was lying on the ground next to the groaning form of the Spy, without any memory of landing, or even falling. The Spy stirred, in the way of someone slowly reacquainting themselves with all of their limbs and taking stock. The Medic heard him mutter, sounding somewhat dazed, "What..?"

There was a clatter from inside the room, and a shaky sounding voice shouted, "Yeh've come for more, boyo?! Aie've another helping for yeu, then! _C'mon!_"

The Demoman staggered into view, his sticky bomb launcher in hand. If the Medic had expected recognition, once the Demoman saw who had fallen into his trap, then he was sorely disappointed. Another glowing red bomb landed right next to his head and the Medic scrambled to his feet, hardly waiting to be vertical before starting to run, hauling the Spy after him as he went. His only saving grace, he knew, was that the bombs took just a moment to arm once they'd been set.

He heard the distinctive popping sound of the Demoman's sticky bomb launcher go off behind them, several more times, but there were no further explosions as they rounded the corner and flattened themselves against the wall.

"Well," noted the Spy, who seemed to have recovered his senses. "We 'ave found ze Demoman."

"You _zhink?!_" the Medic snapped.

"_Tha's right! Run awa'! Git on back ta th' dark pit y' crawled out of, yeh devils!"_ Their assailant shouted... and then strangely enough began to count, lowering his voice to a wobbling volume just below what most people (besides Soldiers) considered a normal speaking tone of voice. "_One... two... three..."_

"Mm. I suppose we should 'ave expected zis," the Spy remarked, sounding far too calm and pensive for someone who had almost been blown to itty bitty grisly pieces by someone _else_ who was supposed to be on his own team.

"Ve should haff _expected_ zhis?!" repeated the Medic, who, conversely, was still trying to stop his heart from hammering its way out of his chest and fleeing on nonexistent legs, away to find the Heavy and cower behind him.

"'E 'as been 'olding ze BLUs at bay, ze last survivor of his team. Zat would make 'im understandably jumpy, no?"

_"Es ist ein waffenstillstand!"_

"And, presumably, Command attempted to tell 'im zat." The Spy arched a sardonic brow. "Apparently, it didn't take."

The Medic had to violently stifle his knee jerk retort to that smart response. He was obviously hysterical, and getting further agitated by the Spy's nonchalance was unhelpful. With a great struggle, he tried to focus on breathing in a normal, unterrified manner once more. After a few moments, while the Medic was busy with deep breathing, the Spy said, "Zat was quick zinking, by ze way..."

"_Zhat vas-_" the Medic began, fiercely, and then deflated, under the chilly realization of just how stupidly lucky they were. "Zhat vas... a mistake. I saw zhe _RED_ bombs, and..."

"Nevertheless."

They were quiet for another moment or two more, and then the Spy left the wall to creep up to the corner and peek around it. Reluctantly, the Medic followed, taking a moment to unhook his Medigun from the pack on his back and turned it on, pointed at the Spy. Neither of them had taken more than a few cuts and bruises, but it was a familiar habit and he felt better with his "weapon" at hand. Looking past his friend, the Medic could see that the hallway was littered with sticky bombs, and the Demoman was nowhere in sight.

"Per'aps if we used an Ubercharge..." said the Spy, thoughtfully.

"Zhat... could vork," the Medic admitted, slowly. It would mean that they would be standing here, waiting for the charge to build, but there were worse alternatives. Like being blown up.

"What in tarnation is goin' on here?"

The Spy and Medic turned, in unison, to find the Engineer standing a few feet away, toolbox in hand. The Medic had to admit, they probably looked more than slightly foolish: Two grown men, nervously peering around a corner like frightened children, too afraid to go into the dark spooky hallway all on their own. "I thought I heard somebody yelling," the Engineer said, still frowning at them.

"Ah. Zen you missed ze explosions," replied the Spy.

"Explosions?" the Medic heard his mouth saying, without input from his brain. "Zhere vas only zhe vun."

"Zere were multiple sticky bombs. _Technically_ more zen one explosion."

"It still only counts as vun."

"Are you sure?"

The Engineer's frown grew even more irate, and the Medic was belatedly reminded of why he, when in possession of his full and un-rattled senses, _didn't_ tease the touchy inventor. Ever. At all.

The Spy was a _terrible_ influence.

"Will one of you stop foolin' around and fill me in?"

"Oui!" said the Spy, helpfully, and then announced, unfurling the words like a victorious banner, "We 'ave located our new Demoman."

The Medic elbowed him, sharply. "He vasn't expecting us."

"Y'don't say." The Engineer shot a look at the Spy. "How'd you fella's come to that conclusion?"

Considering how bedraggled and battered they both must look - or, at least, _he_ must, though the Medigun would have spruced the Spy back up once more - the Medic felt that this was self evident. The Spy, however, answered, "'E tried to blow us up." He paused, and appeared to be considering this, thoughtfully. "Which we are taking very calmly, aren't we?"

"_Nein_," the Medic corrected him, before he could stop himself. Normally he had better restraint, but at the moment, there was a lovely cocktail of adrenaline and endorphins swimming around in his veins after their little brush with death, and it had turned his sarcasm dial up to eleven. After all, his options were to become angry and sardonic, or gibber hysterically in a corner somewhere. Getting angry was so much more satisfying. "_You_ are taking zhis calmly," he added, though he suspected the Spy really was not nearly so calm as he appeared. "_I_ am furious."

"Ah, I see." The Spy sounded smug. "Well done _me_, zen."

"_Spy_," growled the Engineer.

"Yes, yes, very well," the Spy visibly regained a measure of dignified composure, which was his serious face. "If I were to 'azard a guess, 'e zinks we are ze BLUs."

The Engineer's irate frowned softened into one that was mostly just thoughtful. He came over to take his own look around the corner at the booby trapped hallway. "He's still defending the briefcase, huh?"

"_Oui_. You 'ave to admire 'is determination."

The Medic privately disagreed.

"You try the other door yet?"

"We were just regaining our bearings, as it were."

"Hmmm." The Texan set down his toolbox. "How 'bout you go check it? I'll see what I can do from here." When the Spy arched a skeptical brow at him, the Engineer's tone acquired an edge to it. "I reckon I oughta know a thing or two about sticky bombs, don'tcha think?"

"Ah," said the Spy, and turned to go. When the Medic moved to follow, he forestalled the doctor with a raised hand, and then vanished with a quiet _wsshh_ from his cloaking device.

Leaving the Medic alone with the Engineer.

This really shouldn't have been the sudden terrifying realization that it was. But, the Medic felt his stomach drop down to somewhere in the vicinity of his ankles and curl up into a tiny little ball. He could have counted on one hand the number of times that he and the Engineer had been in the same vicinity without at least one of their other teammates around, and still have enough fingers left over to allow him a proper grip to throttle the _annoying_ out of the Scout.

The last time was particularly memorable.

It hadn't gone _poorly_, exactly. It had gone more or less the opposite of poorly. Before their last encounter, the Medic had been nursing the most unreasonable of grudges against the man, _would still_ have been nursing that grudge, except... Well. It was difficult for him to resent someone who had, essentially, had him over a barrel - a metaphorical barrel filled with metaphorical knives, rusty nails and rabid wolves - and then _refrained_ from dropping him in. Or even really acknowledged that he'd had him over the barrel to begin with.

It was baffling. He had to grudgingly admit that he'd misjudged the man, and was... _profoundly_ grateful that he had. Words could not being to express...

And, on the whole, words _hadn't_. Since the aftermath of that tense stand off, the Medic couldn't say that he'd spoken more than four words directly to the Engineer. Neither of them had really spoken about what had happened, back there in the BLU base, or even alluded to it at all. The Medic knew that he _should_. He owed the man a _thank you_, or at the very least a _hello_.

The trouble was...

_Zhis is embarrassing_.

The _trouble_ was... It boiled down to the fact that talking to the Engineer was a little like walking a tight rope over a sleeping tiger, after you'd covered yourself with barbeque sauce. And the tight rope was made of fishing line. And the tiger was covered in spikes. Past experience had taught him that opening his mouth around the Engineer was an exceedingly dangerous thing to do, and there hadn't exactly been that much _present_ experience to contradict it. It didn't help that, even when he'd been holding the grudge, the Medic had been trying _not _to offend the Texan... and failing horribly.

He was, in short, extremely intimidated by the man. Turning back to the Engineer and realizing the metaphorical tiger was loading his shotgun, the Medic was quick to add: _With good reason._

Knowing full well he was chickening out, the Medic shut his mouth and did his best to be unobtrusive.

The Texan shot him a sidelong glance, and said, "Just stay outta the way, Doc."

_That_ he could do. However, when it quickly became clear what the other man was up to, the Medic pointed his Medigun at him, and turned it on.

The Engineer started down the hallway towards the nearest clump of bombs, in what the Medic could only describe as a purposeful stalk. Before he got within blast radius, he pointed his gun at the bombs and fired. The "stickies" came apart like paper, with only a small twinkle of light for an explosion. The Engineer seemed altogether unimpressed, and didn't even slow down. The next clump of bombs met a similar fate.

Which was when the Demoman gave a yelp of alarm from the other room, and all the rest of the bombs went off at once. From farther off, an identical explosion went off, presumably around the other door, and the Medic spared a quick twinge of concern about the Spy's whereabouts. The noise was much less dramatic at this distance: Just a very loud noise and a quiver in the ground and then everything was back to normal. Even the Engineer, who was much closer, had just raised an arm to shield his face and slowed for a moment.

With the explosive obstacle out of the way, the Texan started forward again, with the Medic trailing reluctantly behind him at the very end of the Medigun's reach. He did not like fighting Demomen. Bullets were unpleasant, but at least they traveled in straight lines. Grenades tended to bounce around, past the flimsy protection provided by the bodies of his teammates, with the unpleasant tendency to land at his feet. And unlike his patients, no one was frantically attempting to keep _him_ upright and breathing.

There was a clatter in the room ahead of them, and just before the Engineer reached the doorway, the Demoman reappeared, staggering like the floor was seesawing under his feet. (From his perspective, it probably was.)

"So!" he yelled, though if the Medic had had a thesaurus handy as well as the time to flip through it, he might have chosen _howled_ or possibly _bawled_ to describe the words, instead. There was a desperate quiver to the Demoman's voice, like he was a hair's breath away from simply breaking down and weeping. "Yeh think ye've come t' finish it!"

Bright red grenades - vaguely pill shaped, the size of a can of cola or a little larger - were lobbed in their direction. The Engineer had stopped in his tracks, where he could still sidestep the barrage without much difficulty. Any closer, and he'd get a grenade to the chest before he could duck out of the way. The Medic found himself scrambling out of the way of the bombs that got past him.

Someone yelled for a Medic. The Medic couldn't actually _hear _them over the shouting and explosions, but he knew it, all the same. It was a sudden alarm in his head, a tiny moment of disquiet and certainty. It didn't come in actual words, but he imagined that if it _did_, it would be most easily summed up like this: _Over __**here**__! I am __**Completely Uninjured**__ and __**Not on fire**__! _

He ignored it. After all, he had slightly more immediate problems to deal with than being pestered by the Scout. Of _course _it was the Scout. Who else would be shouting for a Medic while he was entirely unharmed and in no danger at all? The dummkopf did it on a regular basis.

"You crazy sonnuva gun," the Engineer swore, as a grenade went off close enough to make him stumble out of the way. "Use your gosh darn _eye_, wouldja? We're _REDs, _you maniac!"

"Oh, _aye_, sure y'are, boyo. Me own bloody team, back from the- _ngh!_"

Under the Demoman's raving, there was a distinctive _wssh _as the Spy reappeared behind the hysterical Scotsman. The Demo had heard the sound and started to turn, but not quickly enough. The Spy struck his head with the butt of his revolver, and the Demoman went down like a sack of bricks.

"Well," said the Spy, into the silence that fell, as explosions and shouting ceased. "Zat was... dramatic."

Finding it now safe to enter the room without endangering life and limb, the Engineer came in to join the Spy over the prone form of their newest teammate. "And I s'pose you had no idea this was gonna happen?"

The look that the Spy gave the Engineer said _Really?_ "If I 'ad ze _slightest_ suspicion," he said, with the patronizing air of someone explaining how a magic trick worked to an audience composed of small, uneducated children, "zen I wouldn't 'ave let myself nearly get blown to _smithereens_."

To his credit, the Engineer seemed to get a hold of himself, and relented. "Good point." He crouched down to check on the unconscious Demo. "Reckon we better tie 'im up or somethin' before we letcha bring him 'round, Doc?"

As the Engineer turned to look up at him, the _Calling for Medic!_ feeling twinged again. This time, it came like a bucket of ice water applied directly down his spine, into the core of the bone itself. Cold horror crept through him. His lunged seemed to have forgotten how to work.

This time, now that the commotion had died down, he could hear who was calling for him. This time, he could hear, faint and far, far away...

The Heavy's voice, shouting, "Doktor!"

And the sudden feeling of disquiet, the sudden rush of knowledge and certainty told him: _Over __**Here**__! I am __**Near Death**__ and __**Not on Fire**__!_

He spun on his heel, throwing himself towards the door, and ran. Ran as fast as his feet could take him. _Faster. _

x x x

_Fifteen minutes ago:_

The RED Sniper watched as their Spy lured the good doctor off on some errand, and stifled a snort. _Bloody spook's just trying to weasel out of all the 'eavy lifting._ Though, even as he thought it, the Sniper knew it wasn't entirely true. While avoiding getting his posh hands dirty with heaving and carrying couldn't have been far from the spook's mind, the Sniper hadn't ever actually known the Spy to shirk from dirty work without an entirely legitimate reason that he could cite, if called on it. And it was perfectly reasonable for someone to go find the Demoman, and perfectly reasonable that the Medic should go. Dragging the Medic along added that extra validity to his alibi.

'Course, there was nothing to say they couldn't just send the good doctor on that little errand by himself, jumpy though the Doc was. Nothing, of course, except that the Spy didn't like heavy lifting...

Or he was worried, and trying to head trouble off at the pass. _Something_ about their newest assignment had the spook spooked. If you turned it _that_ way, then this was the Spy trying to get the first crack at talking to the Demoman. Which suggested that the Demoman knew something they didn't, or at least the Spy thought he did.

But the bloody wanker _was_ also trying to avoid the heavy lifting.

Truckie and the others were beginning to unload the van. The Sniper joined the haphazard queue to pick up a load and nudged the Scout as he did so. "Why don'tcha go and give the place a once over."

Given the option between hauling heavy boxes or stretching his legs after a long car ride, the Scout didn't even ask why the Sniper would want him to do such a thing. The casual tone of his "Yeah, sure" didn't match the eager way he went sprinting off, just a moment later.

That sorted, the Sniper strolled up to pick up a couple of suitcases that the Engineer handed down to him. "Where's he off to?" Truckie asked, in a low tone, as he passed them over.

The Spy probably would have lied. The Sniper, on the other hand, had just an inkling what kind of damage that would do. "Making sure the BLUs didn't leave us any surprises."

The Engineer frowned. "I know they're out t' get us, but it _is_ a ceasefire after all."

"That's true." The Sniper hefted his load, taking a nonchalant glance to see who all was in earshot - the Heavy was already on his way inside, the Pyro had disappeared, and the Soldier was further inside the van, wrestling his gear out of a crate. Lowering his tone, the Sniper remarked, "The spook's worried."

"_Him_? Why?"

The Sniper shrugged, turning to go. "Doesn't 'urt t' be careful."

Once inside, the gunman stopped in the courtyard and debated for a moment. Then he hung a right instead of a left, and made for the battlements. From all accounts, he'd get a good view of the other base from there. He'd never actually been to a Two Fort before, but it seemed likely he'd find the battlements if he followed the great big sign what read 'battlements.'

He did, both follow and find. Just as he reached it, the Sniper heard big clumping boots behind him. Apparently the Soldier's hearing was better than he'd given him credit for. Giving the American a polite nod, the Sniper turned to inspect what would be _his_ new home away from home. It was dark, though there was some light coming in from a couple of lamp posts outside the chain link fence that walled off the battlefield. The battlements were basically a long, thin porch with a small shack sitting right in the center of it. There were alcoves on either end, but otherwise, it was wide open, overlooking the moat between the bases, and the covered bridge that spanned it.

Across the moat, maybe a hundred feet away, was the BLU base. It was identical to the hulking shape of the RED base, in every way. Right up to the two figures standing on the battlements, looking out. As the Sniper squinted at them, the Soldier came up along side to join him. The Yank glowered at the BLUs, though since his helmet was down over his eyes, the Sniper wasn't sure how he could see them at all. _If_ he was actually seeing them. Then, he decided it didn't matter.

"Sniper and a Scout, looks like," the assassin observed.

"They're up to something," the Soldier growled.

The Sniper considered this for a moment, while the BLUs considered them back. "Looks like they're just keepin' watch."

"BLUs are ALWAYS up to something," was the retort.

"This time, I think-" There was a faint noise, like a very loud _bang_ going off a good long distance away. Somewhere behind them, back inside their base. The Sniper turned to look back into the dark building. "Didja 'ear that?"

The Soldier spun around, shovel at the ready. "Its an ambush!"

Unease, an emotion that the Sniper wasn't close companions with, crept over him. _Sabotage_, that's what he'd been thinking, not... "We've got a bloody cease fire on. They wouldn't-"

And that was as far as far as he got. Because he'd turned back to look at the BLUs as he spoke, and suddenly discovered that there was only one of them standing on the battlements now.

As a shadowy figure leapt from the top of the bridge towards the RED battlements, at a speed that suggested it hadn't slowed a fraction since it had left the BLU side, the Sniper had enough time to think_, It _is_ a bloody ambush._

Something solid and wooden and moving fast struck him.

x x x

As his teammate went down at the BLU Scout's feet, the RED Soldier's thought process went something like this: _That is a dead BLU. He is already dead. I am going to kill him._

This was the default reaction upon seeing any and every BLU, and in this case, it was further modified like this: There was a Cease Fire, and you couldn't kill BLUs while there was a Cease Fire, otherwise you'd _annihilate_ them too _quickly_. He was not obligated to give them a fighting chance, and any way, that would be impossible, but if he killed them all, then the war would be over. So that was why they had cease fires. But _this_ BLU had ceased cease firing _first._ And that made him _Fair Game_.

Well. _Thought process_ might have been too strong of a word. It was more a quick series of conditions and modifiers to immediate instinct that quickly added up to this conclusion: I am going to kill that BLU. _He is going to die._

There was no other possible outcome.

He arrived at this conclusion before the Sniper's body hit the ground. The BLU hadn't even slowed down, and he rushed forward to meet the Soldier's charge. Wooden bat met shovel, an upward swing met a downward one. Instead of clashing, the bat guided the shovel's swing away from the Scout's head and shoulders without losing any of the momentum. The Soldier found himself swinging farther than he'd meant to, as the BLU ducked around behind him. He spun around, even as he stumbled, and drew his shotgun in the same movement. The BLU had to redirect his swing, from bashing the Soldier in the face to battering the barrel of the shotgun out of the way, as the gun went off and spat buckshot into the wall behind them. The Soldier followed up with another swipe at neck level with the shovel in his other hand, forcing the BLU to lean quickly back to avoid the blow. Which gave the Soldier enough time to bring his shotgun up again.

The BLU ducked around behind him again, avoiding another spray of buckshot. Before the Soldier could turn again, he took a hit, like someone jabbing him in the kidneys with a length of wood. Which was accurate, because that was what had happened. Too bad for the BLU, this only made the Soldier angrier. He spun around again, and fired his shotgun right into the BLU's... Scout shaped hole in the air where the little punk had been standing a moment ago, because the shrimp had followed the turn and was behind him _again._ The coward was hiding from him! He was too much of a _sissy_ to fight the RED face to face!

The Soldier took another hit between the shoulder blades. But, now he was catching on to the BLU's sneaky tricks, and spun the other way, leading with the butt of his shotgun and following with another swipe from the shovel. Only to find the BLU was even sneakier and somehow, _still behind him._

With an enraged roar, the Soldier threw himself backwards, putting his weight into it, until his shoulders hit the wall. The BLU had rolled out of the way, and now scrambled around the corner, deeper into the base. "Come back here, you spineless scum! _You wanted a fight, Mister, and now you are going to-_"

The BLU didn't get to hear what the RED was going to make him do. The Soldier had charged after the little pansy - probably off to go _cry_ like a little _girl_ - only to discover an empty room instead, and then the BLU Scout landed on his head. That was what it felt like. There was a _clang_ as the bat hit his helmet, and the Soldier stumbled as the BLU shoved off again. Disoriented and off balance, the Soldier tried to stagger into an upright position. "Where did you go, you-"

He heard the Heavy yell "Soldier!" somewhere on the other side of the courtyard. Then a wooden bat hit his chin on the upswing, and his vision became star spangled.

This wasn't right. He was indestructible! This BLU was cheating! _He demanded a do over._

Blatantly ignoring his objections, not to mention the natural order of the universe, the BLU hit him over the back of his neck and shoulders. His legs mutinied on him, and then the floor rushed up to introduce itself to his face.

* * *

_Es ist ein waffenstillstand = It is a ceasefire. (At least, according to google translate.)_


	4. Chapter 3 - A Warm Welcome

A/N: I don't really have much of a preface to this one, except thanks you guys. I'm glad you (and your cats) are enjoying it so far ;) I hope I continue to amuse~.

* * *

By the time the Medic reached the top of the stairs, his lungs were burning and his legs were ready to murder him. Possibly they would have preferred if he'd remembered to breath on the way up. Possibly, they had objected to his Scout impression, or the way he'd taken the steps two at a time.

He wasn't listening to anything any part of his body had to say. Most especially his brain, which he had left behind at the beginning of his mad dash.

_The Heavy_.

The rain had not abated, and it was turning the mud in the courtyard into a slick, grimy soup. The Medic knew this, even standing on the second level in the courtyard, because the Heavy was up to his ankles in it.

Even though the big man and his assailant were nothing more than dim silhouettes, even though they were obscured by darkness, rain, and the fog collecting on his glasses, the Medic could see clearly what was going on.

It shouldn't be possible.

He had once seen the Russian giant snatch a Scout out of mid air and crush the life out of him. The Heavy had mowed down Scouts by the handful with his minigun in a matter of seconds. When a Scout came up against his Heavy, it was like a wave crashing against a massive boulder. Only one of them walked away.

_It shouldn't be possible_. His brain wouldn't accept what he was seeing. It was like watching a massive grizzly bear fighting an itty bitty bunny rabbit... and _losing_.

It would have been over, instantly, if the Heavy just landed one blow. But, no matter which way the big man turned the BLU Scout was behind him. The Medic would have expected the smaller man to be pressing his advantage, raining blows as fast as he could swing them... but the Scout wasn't. It wasn't a war of attrition, the BLU wasn't frantically battering at the Heavy, trying to whittle him down by thin slices. Instead, when the Scout swung his bat, it was with all his force, winding up for the added speed, meeting the Heavy's momentum coming the other way. _Purposefully_. Calculated. Methodical. And, while the Heavy was built like a brick wall, there was only so much head trauma that even _he _could take.

The smart thing to do would be to go get help. The Medic wasn't a skilled fighter. Even if he rushed in to heal the Heavy, the Scout would just turn on him, and then they would both be killed. Of course, by the time he ran off, got help, and came back...

The Heavy staggered, and slumped down on one knee. The next blow from the BLU Scout's bat laid him out flat, face forward in the mud.

This couldn't be happening.

He couldn't _let_ this happen.

The BLU hadn't noticed him yet, but even so, the Medic's approach wasn't exactly sneaky. The bonesaw had found its way to his hand without any conscious thought, just as his feet had started their charge without consulting his brain. Which _still_ was trailing along several meters behind, unable to keep up. He jumped down off of the raised platform, ignoring the slick surface under his boots. The BLU, who had been poised to bludgeon the Heavy again, seemed to spot the motion out of the corner of his eye, because he turned to meet the Medic. The doctor took a swipe at the young man.

That was the last clear thing he remembered about the fight.

x x x

"...before we letcha bring 'im 'round, Doc." The Engineer turned to look up at the doctor, only to see the other man turn white as a sheet. He'd seen the Medic look nervous before, even seen him look pretty damn distraught - at least as much as the doctor used his face to make expressions. But the Texan had never seen him look like _that_ before. Like somebody had just shaved off ten years of his life, in the blink of an eye.

Before the Engineer could demand- before he could _ask, _politely, what the matter was, the Medic had turned tail and fled, like he had the hounds of hell chasing after him.

Which was just plain _unfair._

Alright, for the love of mercy, the Engineer _knew_ he had that damn turncoat spooked, but he really hadn't _done_ anything this time. Unless the Doc had added _making reasonable suggestions_ to the list of things that the Engineer did that made him jumpy, and it was a damn long list already. "Guess that's a _no_, then..."

"_Non_," the Spy interjected, and there was a note in the man's tone that derailed his irritation. That was alarm in his voice. Their blasted Spy sounded _alarmed_.

_Holy hell._

"Did you 'ear..?"

The Texan strained his ears, but couldn't pick up whatever it was that the Spy had.

But the Spy apparently wasn't looking for confirmation from the Engineer. He was still staring after the Medic, and the Texan could practically see the wheels turning. But only for a fraction of a second. Then the Spy sprung back to life and cursed. "_Merde_. Ze 'Eavy."

"What?" the Engineer demanded, but the slippery snake was already starting to stalk towards the door, picking up speed as he went.

"Stay 'ere," the Spy ordered, sharply, with barely a glance behind him, and only a brusque gesture towards the Demoman. "Deal wiz _'im._" The masked man broke into a run. "I will 'andle zis."

Then he was gone.

Leaving the Engineer with an unconscious Demoman and a lot of questions that he didn't have answers to. Except for the unconscious Demoman part, it was a situation he was finding himself in a lot lately. He didn't much care for it, didn't much care for being left in the dark , holding the bag and expected to do as he was told.

What he _ought_ to do, what he really _wanted_ to do, was chase after the Spy and find out for himself what _exactly_ the problem was.

Glancing down, the Engineer frowned at the sprawled Scotsman at his feet, and then heaved a disgusted sigh. _Gosh darn, dagnabbit, son of a gun... You're just some kind've big damn pushover, aren'tcha? _

x x x

Up until this moment in his life, the Medic had successfully avoided the experience of being hit by a freight train. Obviously. After all, if he had, he wouldn't have been able to experience anything _else - _and at the moment, he was wondering if that wouldn't have been such a bad thing. Because, fighting the BLU Scout was not, at all, like being hit by a freight train.

It was _worse_.

There was a brief whirlwind of speed and pain that ended abruptly with an explosion of stars in front of his vision, like the exclamation point at the end of a sentence made of agony, as his jaw discovered that there was still some solid ground left underneath the mud. It took him a moment or two to realize that he was sprawled out face down in the mud. Probably at the BLU Scout's feet, about to get his head caved in with a piece of sport's equipment.

_Vell, zhat vas brilliant_, remarked his brain, as it finally caught up with him. _Dummkopf._

_You be silent_, he told it. _I didn't see YOU_ _helping._

There was a _squish_ alarmingly close to his head, and the Medic pushed himself up, trying to look up at the BLU looming over him. In the shadow, he couldn't even make out the Scout's face. His brain decided that the best course of action was to _run away_, but it was far too late. He made an aborted attempt to get his arms underneath him, to push himself off of the ground, and _flee_ that ended in another paralyzing wave of agony which gripped his shoulder when he tried to move it..

The BLU Scout purposefully readjusted his grip on his bat, and swung it up, over his head.

"_Yo! Chucklenuts!_"

The voice came from somewhere above him, and the Medic ducked reflexively. There was a sensation of movement over his head, and when he risked a glance up, he saw that another Scout had landed where the BLU had once been. The BLU who had ducked out of the way, and was already turning his dodge into another strike at his RED counterpart.

With a shout of "Too slow!" the RED Scout, in turn, slid out of the way of the incoming swing, moving in the direction of the strike itself and rushing in behind it, following the momentum of his opponent's attack with a bare knuckled punch of his own.

In a moment, they were fighting like a RED and BLU whirlwind. When one swung, the other dodged then struck out himself, which the _other_ one then dodged. Darting and feinting and spouting insults, always moving. What was probably the most amazing part was that neither was managing to actually land a hit on his opponent. The two Scouts were having a throw down, no holds barred, all out brawl, without so much as actually laying a finger on each other. The Medic would have been a lot more impressed, if he wasn't lying in the mud, scant feet away from the prone form of his best friend who was probably bleeding internally with a cracked skull.

The BLU spun on his heel and bounded over the Medic's back, out of sight, with the RED hot on his heels. At which point, as the fight continued out of his sight, the doctor struggled to gather his wits together again. The Scout seemed to be doing fine, for the moment, but the Heavy was _not_ and lying face down in the mud was not going to accomplish anything _useful_.

He had just about succeeded in getting his one uninjured arm under him, and started to prop himself up on that elbow, when hands gripped him by the shoulders and attempted to pull him up. The Medic expressed his disapproval of this plan with a noise that was _not_ _at all_ a scream of pain, stifled and strangled all the way up his throat until what made it out between his clenched teeth barely resembled itself. When the pain receded again, he found himself more or less in a sitting-ish position, half propped up against the shimmering outline of someone he couldn't see.

"_Mi dispace_," said the Spy's voice, in his ear.

"_Nnngh_," was the Medic's eloquent reply.

x x x

He hurt.

That was the main thing that the Heavy was aware of. It had been a long time since he had hurt this much, and he did not like it. The pain lay over him like a heavy cloak, weighing him down, and his body wouldn't do what he told it to. _That_ was what he didn't like. The pain itself he didn't particularly care about. It was just sort of a thing that was there. But it was cold, and wet, and there was something cold and wet and slimy in his face, and there was something _very important _that was very important but kept slipping away from him, because not only would his body not listen to him, but his brain didn't want to listen, either. It just wanted to lie there, with the cold on his face, because the cold felt nice there, and his head didn't ache quite so much if he just-

A familiar voice cried out in pain, and the Heavy suddenly remembered what it was that was very important. _Medic._ The little doctor was in trouble, and _he_ was lying on the ground, because... _stupid little baby man_ had put him there. The little baby man, who thought he had beaten the Heavy, and thought he could beat the Heavy's Medic and _why was the Heavy still on the ground?! _

His body was no more responsive than it had been before this sudden revelation, but that didn't matter, because the Heavy was going to get up now, with or without it's help.

An arm gave in to its inevitable fate first, moving slowly but purposefully. One hand planted itself in the slick mud, and pressed down, lifting the shoulder it was attached to up, out of the muck. Next came the other arm, first levering an elbow underneath him and then hoisting his whole chest up so it was no longer on the ground. Then came a knee.

Somewhere outside his head, there were voices, one loud and jeering, two quieter ones arguing back and forth, but they were just noise. There was only room in his head for one thought.

_He was getting up_.

x x x

There was something wrong, and it wasn't the fact that this one scrawny BLU had laid two of his teammates out flat in the mud. It wasn't the fact that this fight shouldn't even be taking place, under the Rules of Engagement, or that with an injured arm, their Medic was unable to effectively work his Medigun. It wasn't even the fact that the Spy was up to his ankles in pure sludge and that his expensive leather shoes were never, ever going to recover, no matter the outcome of this battle.

No, there was something wrong with the BLU, that only struck the Spy when their Scout arrived on the scene, in counterpoint. The RED, from the moment he'd leapt into the fray, hadn't shut his insolent, jeering mouth. His strikes and dodges were all accompanied and emphasized by a running commentary of just how _bad_ the other Scout was, and that he was a wuss, and a little girl, so on and so forth...

The BLU, conversely, had not spoken. Not once. There was a _focused_ quality to his silence, that would have raised the hair on the back of the Spy's neck, if he'd been the kind of weak willed peon who might be easily unnerved by such a quality in his opponent.

It probably wasn't important. The BLU had caught them by surprise, obviously, but once they were back on their feet, he would die quickly enough, and that would be that. Now, if the Spy could just get this dratted, infernal piece of medical equipment to _work._

The Medic was not helping.

"You are holding it _wrong_," the doctor informed him, tersely, pain and irritation warring with each other in his tone. He was half propped up on one elbow, the other arm curled against his side in such a way to avoid joggling it further, and the Spy could tell from his tone that the only reason he wasn't snatching his Medigun back was that both arms were occupied at the moment.

The Spy adjusted his grip on the device and tried again, keeping half an eye on the localized tornado that was the two Scouts still fighting. If he pulled _this_ handle and pushed _this_ button-

It beeped at him, sounding (he imagined) vaguely disgruntled. Rather like the Medic.

"_Nein_, vhy are you- Zhat is zhe _Ubercharge, _you _dummkopf_, vhat do you zhink you are-"

"Zis infernal device 'as _one_ 'andle and _one _switch, 'ow exactly am I doing zis _wrong_-"

The doctor growled his impatience. "Vell, for starters, because it is _not vorking_."

If not for the gravity of their situation, the Spy would have been tempted to hit the Medic over the head with the offending device. Instead, he shoved the Medigun in his colleague's direction, propping the Medic up with his shoulder, and hissed, "Zen _you_ do it!"

At which point the Heavy, who the Spy had assumed was unconscious (and had therefore had been relegated down to the bottom of the list of things that needed to be paid immediate attention to), heaved himself up onto his feet from his hands and knees to loom over the Medic and the Spy. As they gaped at him, the Heavy swayed unsteadily for a moment, apparently unaware of them. Then he raised his head, and took one staggering step towards the dueling Scouts.

The Medic made a frantic grab for the handle of his Medigun, and in the process moved the arm that had been propping him up, leaning his full weight on the Spy instead. There was a alarming moment where the Spy struggled to keep them both upright (the consequences of a full body sprawl into the thick sludge at their feet was simply unthinkable) and keep hold of the Medigun as well, and then the device _clicked_ on and a dimly glowing tendril of red curled out of the nozzle to latch onto the Heavy.

"Tell me honestly," the RED Scout was saying. "Does it _hurt_, t' suck as much as you?" He dove again at the BLU, who hadn't noticed the giant suddenly looming out of the darkness behind him, wreathed in glowing red. The BLU Scout sidestepped the RED's lunge, and brought his bat around to strike the other Scout as he went past. With a meaty _thunk_, the Heavy closed one big fist around the weapon, stopping it short, even as the RED Scout reversed directions to avoid the swing.

For just one brief moment, the BLU Scout stopped, looking back to see what had stopped him, and met the Heavy's gaze. The red glow from the Medigun danced over his features, illuminating them in the gloom, as bruises vanished and cuts closed.

"Round two," the Heavy rumbled.

The BLU's expression, which had been almost blank, turned ugly with anger. And then he moved, even as the RED Scout darted in for the kill. The Spy almost didn't catch what it exactly was that the BLU did. _Almost_. The natural thing to do, the _stupid_ thing, was to try and yank the bat away from the angry giant... and this was what the BLU Scout did.

At first.

But even as the Heavy tightened his grip, the BLU turned the movement into a _shove_, which, as strong as he was, the Heavy had not been braced for. Quite the reverse, in fact - and suddenly his strong grip on the bat was turned into a pull, if only for a split second. Then the Heavy caught himself and braced against the momentum. Which was when the BLU yanked on the bat _again_, using the strength of the Heavy's grip to shove the butt of the bat right into the face of the incoming RED Scout, as he side stepped out of the way.

"Whoa!" The RED threw himself backwards, missing the blow by a hair's breath.

The BLU let go of the bat and dove under the Heavy's elbow, the big man's hand still occupied with the BLU's weapon, and bore down on the injured Medic and the assisting Spy. Too fast for their teammates to intervene, and the Spy had no doubt that the BLU Scout would not be slowed down by a little thing like being unarmed.

Letting go of the Medigun, the Spy slid out from under the Medic's shoulder, standing and drawing his knife in the same smooth motion, and ignored the spluttered protest from his colleague as the Medic toppled back into the mud. He halted the boy's forward momentum with a quick slash to his face, but knew better than to leave a limb out where the BLU could grab it. Indeed, the young man took a swipe, as if to latch on to the Spy's wrist, and then followed up with a jab with the other fist, aimed for the older man's face.

The Spy effortlessly stepped back, out of reach. Because the Heavy had turned, dropping the abandoned bat, and was presently swinging a massive fist at the BLU's back. But the enemy Scout's jab had been a feint, and the runner moved into the space that the Spy had been standing in, pressing the Spy even farther back with another jab. The Spy leaned out of the way, and discouraged the boy's forward movement once again, with another quick slash of his knife, aimed for this eyes. The BLU ducked, missing both the knife and the Heavy's second swing that had been aimed for his head and neck.

"Get outta my freakin' way!" The RED Scout swarmed underneath the outstretched arms of his teammate. The BLU spun away and ran, with the RED hot on his heels. Luring him, the Spy realized, as the BLU aimed for the dark doorway that led out of the courtyard. Away from his teammates and their assistance, into a narrow hallway, illuminated only by a flickering bulb. A confined space, where both Scouts' mobility would be limited. If the BLU was heading there, he undoubtedly believed his RED counterpart would be at more of a disadvantage than he was.

"_Wait_-" the Spy began, reaching out to snag the back of the RED's shirt as he sped past, and receiving only a fist full of air for his trouble.

There was the sound like a ripe watermelon being chopped in half by a thick cleaver. Which was _similar, _the Spy mused in the sudden, shocked silence that followed the sound, to the reality of the situation. Similar, except for a few, very _key_ distinctions.

The BLU had stopped running, though, technically speaking, he had not stopped moving. For the brief heartbeat, the boy remained standing, but only for a moment. Then his legs folded underneath him, and he dropped to his knees, head tilted back by the weight of the axe blade that had buried itself in his forehead. Attached to the blade was, unsurprisingly, a long wooden handle. At the end of which was the Pyro.

Eyes hidden behind dark lenses in an inhuman mask considered the BLU, stuck to the end of his weapon, and then the Pyro reached one hand out, in its thick rubber glove, and gently pushed the BLU Scout off of the axe blade, with a wet, solid sounding noise. The BLU collapsed into a heap at the Pyro's feet, and the Pyro nudged the body with his foot, before looking back up at his teammates, and flashing them a cheerful thumb's up. "Mmfmhm?"

"Aw _man_," the RED Scout protested, stopping up short and rocking back onto his heels. "Spoilsport."

The tension broke, and relief rippled over the REDs like a stone dropped into a still pond. Though the relief itself was short lived. With a flick of his wrist, the Spy folded his knife back up, and tucked it away. "Well done," he acknowledged, with a slight nod to the Pyro. _Zat had nearly been disastrous. _

_Speaking of which..._

"Doktor!"

The Spy turned back to his comrade, to find the Heavy already bent over the muddy Medic. The doctor had managed to lever himself up again on his uninjured arm, leaning on his Medigun which seemed to be sinking somewhat into the swamp that their courtyard had become. It had turned off again, without the Spy's extra hands to help work it. Which, he realized, may very well have been the BLU's intent to begin with. He did not need to injure the Medic further to keep him out of commission, just distract the teammate that was rendering assistance.

A chilling realization. But, ultimately, unimportant. After all, the Pyro's intervention had made any further speculation about the BLU entirely moot. _Problem solved_.

"You are hurt!"

"_Nein_, I am... _fine_. Just... help me up."

The Spy suspected the doctor immediately regretted his words, as the Heavy scooped him up and the Medic made another strangled noise of agony. "Ngh! _Putmedownzhisinstant_."

"If you are going to lie," the Spy advised, helpfully, moving to pick up the Medigun, while the Heavy gently set the Medic down on his feet, "At least _attempt_ to be convincing."

x x x

The Medic swayed for a moment, when he was put back on his feet, and couldn't help but shut his eyes until the world stopped spinning. He did not appreciate being in this much pain, especially when it got in the way of doing his job. Which, while relatively simple, did require _two hands_. Not to mention the ability to stand on his own, without nausea or dizziness knocking him over. _Stupid treacherous body._ What was it fussing about, anyway? It was only a little dislocated shoulder. "I am _fine_," he repeated, gritting the words through his teeth.

A large hand landed on the shoulder that wasn't busy screaming in pain. "Where is Engineer?" the Heavy demanded.

"In ze Intel r-" he heard the Spy start to say, but the Heavy was already steering the Medic towards the nearest stairs, half dragging, half supporting him with that hand on his shoulder.

"Good. We go there." Before the Medic could begin to protest to such manhandling, the Heavy informed the Spy, tossing the information over his shoulder, tersely, "Little man got to Soldier first. You should bring him to Engineer, as well."

The Medic dug in his heels, or tried to. "Vhat? Zhen I have to-"

"No."

"But-"

"_No_." The growl under _that_ one was identical to the rumble you felt in the ground, right before a rockslide dropped several tons of boulder down on top of you.

The Medic swallowed his _But I have a job to do_, and gave in to the combined efforts of injured shoulder and angry Heavy to get him to go find somewhere safe to sit down. But he couldn't help one last grumble as he did so. "I'm doing zhis under _protest_."


End file.
